


Back Me Up, Here

by Kacka



Series: When We're Older [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6105118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy overreacts to a simple question and Clarke isn't sure where it all went wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back Me Up, Here

“What’s up with you and Bellamy?” Monty asks, passing Clarke a tequila sunrise as some sort of apology for broaching the clearly sensitive topic.

“Are we that obvious?” She mumbles, taking a long pull of the drink.

“No, I’m just a genius.”

“That’s why you and Nate decided to divide and conquer.”

Sure enough, Miller has made his way over to Bellamy with an alcoholic peace offering of his own.

What went down the other day hadn’t been enough for her to avoid the weekly gathering at Drop Ship, the bar where Murphy and Gina work, but it had been enough for her to avoid Bellamy. And vice versa.

It’s a painful thing, missing him like this when he’s only across the room. So close, yet so far, she thinks, drinking heavily from her cocktail again.

It’s not like she’s been _watching_ Bellamy all night. In fact, she’s been very pointedly not looking at him, sitting in the corner by herself and sulking while everyone else has been distracted by their significant others.

It’s pretty typical these days for Octavia and Lincoln to be kicking Monty and Miller’s asses at the pool table while Raven posts up at the bar to flirt with Gina. Under normal circumstances, Clarke would be third-wheeling pretty hard with any of the couples or bickering with Bellamy. She just doesn’t have it in her tonight.

But she can’t help seeing the tense set of his broad shoulders, the flexing of his hands that belies his agitation, the way he’s downed every one of the many drinks Murphy has set in front of him.

“Octavia wanted to parent trap you,” Monty jokes. He’s trying to keep it light despite Clarke’s determination to wallow in self-pity. “Raven just wanted to lock the two of you in the back room until you either killed each other or made up. Nate and I thought we’d at least _try_ talking sense into one of you first.”

“Glad to know you’re all discussing us behind our backs.”

“We wouldn’t have to if you’d talk to us like we’re your friends or something.” His tone has taken on a slight edge and Clarke can’t help the regret that wells up within her. Monty has had enough of his friends pushing him away in grief.

“I’m sorry, Mon,” she says, grabbing his hand and squeezing. “You know how Bellamy and I are. We get mad, but we don’t stay mad. We’ll get over ourselves eventually.”

She really wants to believe it, but she’s not sure if it’s the truth.

Her relationship with Bellamy started rocky. They met in the same graduate program and ended up competing for a bunch of the same job and scholarship opportunities. He was bitter that she’d grown up with money, never mind that she was paying her own way now, and resentful that she had connections in high places at their university. She, in turn, lashed out when he made prejudicial comments and suggested that she hadn’t earned the things she’d worked so hard for.

They’d said all kinds of awful things to each other until Clarke had become friends with his sister. The more she saw him with Octavia, the more she understood the real Bellamy.

Now, almost three years later, she considers him one of her best friends. He always has her back, always challenges her to do better, always gives her his honest opinion but respects her point of view. He’s the one who steadies her when her life gets rocky and she’s the one he goes to when he’s not sure he’s making the right decision.

They’re still the argumentative, stubborn people they were when they first met but it doesn’t get personal. Not anymore.

Not until the other day.

“I don’t know,” Monty says doubtfully. “I’ve never seen you guys actively ignore each other before. It doesn’t feel right. If you’re not arguing, you’re not working out whatever it is.”

“It’s just a dumb fight,” Clarke says, trying to shrug it off. She’s had quite a bit to drink and knows the heartbreak in her voice is working against that impression.

“What about?”

“Lexa got engaged a few days ago.” She can’t look at Monty’s gentle, understanding expression, needs to give herself a hard time, so she lifts her glass and sets it down again, watching as rings of condensation overlap on the table. “I’m mostly fine about it. I don’t love her anymore, and I do want her to be happy. It just– you’re all in happy, stable relationships and I started to wonder if I’d ever have that.”

“It’s going to happen for you,” Monty says, so firmly Clarke wouldn’t put it past him to try to will her a romantic partner into being. She flashes him a smile but it feels forced.

“That’s what Bellamy said. But then I asked him– I didn’t even mean anything bad by it, I just thought it would be kind of a funny thing– I asked him if he’d be my backup. You know how friends make dumb pacts to get married if they’re both single at forty? I thought he’d laugh.”

“He didn’t?”

“He got pissed,” Clarke says, wincing at the harshness of her own voice. “He told me I was being selfish and that I shouldn’t mess with other people to try to fix my own loneliness.”

“Okay, I know Bellamy is a drama queen but that’s an overreaction, even for him.”

“Yeah,” Clarke sighs. “But I didn’t take it well. I yelled at him for being an asshole and told him I was just trying to make a joke and he got even madder, vented some more, and walked out. I don’t even know why he got so upset, so I don’t know what to do to fix it. I thought he might try to apologize tonight, or yell at me some more, but he hasn’t even looked at me. It’s ten times worse than I thought it would be.”

Monty frowns.

“I think you need another drink,” he decides, taking her empty glass and heading for the bar. She drags the tip of her finger through the water on the table, destroying the even pattern she’d made and resolutely not looking at Bellamy until Monty returns, sliding her drink back to her.

“Thanks–” she starts to say, but then she looks up and finds herself staring not at Monty but at a glowering Bellamy. His jaw is doing the thing where she can see the muscle clenching and unclenching as he tries to find the right words.

He’s good at that: using his words as weapons, precisely the right ones to make her feel better or to tear her apart, words that would move armies to battle or make them lay down their weapons in favor of peace. It’s been years since she was this afraid of what his words might do.

“Monty just came over to me and told me to pull my head out of my ass.” Clarke’s heart dips.

“If you came over to tell me not to badmouth you to our friends, maybe you should think twice before giving me so much ammunition,” she says hotly. In a strange way, her anger seems to put him more at ease.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Monty that indignant,” he says, his tone thoughtful. Like he’s replaying every interaction he’s ever had with Monty. She remains silent because she doesn’t actually know how to respond. “He’s right though,” Bellamy continues, his voice low and even, remorseful. It gives her chills.

“He is?”

“Yeah. I’m being unfair to you. You weren’t intentionally being hurtful, and I knew it, but I wanted to hurt you back anyway. That’s not what a friend is supposed to do, so I’m sorry.”

Clarke still feels like she’s playing catch-up.

“I don’t understand why it offended you so much,” she says, the cold glass in her hands anchoring her to the otherwise surreal moment. “I don’t want to hurt you, Bell. You know that. Tell me what I did wrong and I’ll do better next time.”

He smiles at her, but it’s a sad kind of smile. Like there’s nothing she can do.

She doesn’t like being told there’s nothing she can do. That’s not how life works, in her mind.

“I don’t want to be your last resort, Clarke.” His voice is kind. She’d prefer it if he would rant and rave and be angry, because the hurt bleeding into his words is exquisitely painful for her to hear. “If you told me you’d marry me when we were both forty, I’d probably just wait for you. But that wouldn’t be fair to either of us. I don’t want you to end up with me just because you’re afraid of being alone; I want you to end up with me because out of all the people in the world, you decide that I’m the one you want to be with.”

Clarke has no words. She swallows hard and kind of gapes and doesn’t say anything until Bellamy nods, still smiling that sad smile, and raps his knuckles on the table.

“Yeah. So that’s why– that’s why. I get that you don’t feel the same way. You’re important to me and our friendship is important to me, and I won’t let this make things weird between us. But I think I need some space, for now.” He stands and jams his hands in his pockets, his eyes never leaving hers.

She wants to stop him but has never been as good with words as he is. So she just lets him say, “I’ll see you around, Clarke,” and watches him leave.

Her eyes connect with Monty’s across the room, and he nudges Raven, who pecks her girlfriend on the cheek before hopping off her stool and making her way over to Clarke.

“Hey, babe,” she says, wrapping an arm around Clarke’s shoulders. “What’s going on?”

Clarke is silent for another beat, gathering her thoughts, then she throws her head back and drains her glass, wiping her mouth and spitting out, “I cannot believe him.”

Raven grins at Monty and gives him a thumbs-up.

“That’s more like it. Text me if you decide you’re not coming back to our place.”

“I will. Tell Gina I’m sorry I’m running out on my tab.”

“It’s fine,” Raven smirks. “She knows where you live.”

Clarke fumes all the way to the train station, the entire time she’s standing on the freezing platform, and throughout the ten minute ride to Bellamy’s stop. It’s just like him to blow an innocent situation out of proportion and put them both through days of misery, instead of just telling her he loves her from the beginning.

Because she’s pretty sure he does love her, even if he didn’t say it in so many words. She’s certain, now that she’s given it due consideration, that she loves him.

It really shouldn’t be such a surprise. Her only defense is that it came on so gradually she didn’t notice.

When she looks at her life through the lens of being in love with Bellamy, everything makes more sense. Suddenly it’s not so strange that her first thought when she has a free hour is to see what he’s up to, not so strange that she’d blow off a girl on Tinder to spend a night helping him craft perfect arguments against Reddit trolls, not so strange that she has his spare key or that she usually keeps her leftovers in his fridge or that her phone is full of screenshots she wants to show him.

He doesn’t answer when she buzzes, doesn’t answer his phone when she calls, so she lets herself into his apartment, only to find it dark and empty.

Her stomach sinks. Where would he have gone?

She’s crafting an irate text message when she hears his key in the lock. He’s barely through the door when she starts her verbal assault.

“Moody, stupid, Brooding McBrooderson!”

“Clarke?”

“What, did you walk thirty minutes in the cold just to give yourself time to mope?” She demands, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Why are you attacking me in my home? I thought you were an intruder–”

“Then I’m worried about your defensive instincts,” she says, some of the fight going out of her as she takes a step toward him.

“What are you doing here?” His dark eyes are wide, snow falling from his hair and scarf as he sheds his outer layers.

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m in love with you?” She asks, her breath catching in her throat as she says the words. He can read her better than anyone, sees how much it takes her by surprise, and smiles despite himself.

“Did it ever occur to _you_?” He teases, the smile fading as she steps closer.

“Not until you said something,” she admits. “But you and I both know I can be pretty oblivious to this kind of thing.” She reaches up to push his wet curls out of his eyes and he leans into the brush of her fingers. “I’m sorry I made you feel like a last resort.”

“I’m sorry I called you selfish,” he tells her, heartfelt, as his arms wind behind her back.

“I’m sure you’ll make it up to me,” she says, smiling when he tightens his grasp and his lips crash down on hers.

She’s never been the kind to get completely swept away by a kiss, to see stars and fireworks, but kissing Bellamy is different. The fire he’s always lit within her grows brighter, warming her from the inside out. She can’t feel anything but him: the feel of his hands on her back, in her hair, the teasing fight between them for dominance, the give and take that comes so naturally.

He breaks away when his hands slip under her shirt, checking to see if it’s okay, and she pulls it over her head without hesitation. The look in his eyes shifts to his ‘challenge accepted’ expression– one she knows all too well– and he backs her against the wall as she tugs his shirt up and off.

“You know we could have been doing this days ago,” she gasps as his hands travel down to her thighs and he lifts her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist.

“I have a feeling we could have been doing this for years,” he says, nipping at her pulse point. She tugs his hair and laughs as he squeezes her sides.

“Are we ever going to learn that we don’t have to do things the hard way?” She asks, yelping in surprise as he starts to walk them back toward his bedroom.

“I’m sure we’ll get the hang of it,” he tells her, lowering them both to the bed and trailing his fingers down to the button on her jeans. “Practice makes perfect, right?”

* * *

“Hello?”

“Hey.” The sound of Bellamy’s voice eases some of the nerves she’s been feeling for the past few hours. “Octavia won’t kill us for talking on the phone, right?”

“Probably not,” she grins, though he can’t see it. “Are you free later?”

“I’ve got this thing,” he says, his voice teasing. “But I could make some time for you.”

“Well, I did get all dressed up.” She looks down at the gown it took her weeks to pick out and smooths an invisible wrinkle. “Miller and Raven are taking bets on whether you’ll cry when you see me.”

“I’m not surprised,” he says, all fond annoyance. “You ready for this?”

“I’d better be. We invited all these people, put down all this money… And my backup isn’t going to be single much longer, so it looks like I’ll have to stick with Plan A.”

He laughs, just like she hoped he would.

“I gotta go,” he says and she hears music start in the background. “See you at the altar.”

“I’ll be the one wearing white.”


End file.
